Then, say not, maiden—never say Thy heart in like the snow, Thine eyes have far too fond a ray, That we should deem it so. I, too, have sought, with studied art. To stay the tides that speak, But still, the struggle at my heart Was written on my cheek. And now, my tuneless measure talks One of the lonely lays Which haunt my spirit when it walks The melancholy ways. I sing, and singing dwell on thee— The Pilgrim of a Star! Who, straining, deems he yet can see Some solace, though afar. Oh! in such times my harp will break Forth in a fleeting tone, But, ere its echo dies, I wake, To find—I am alone! * * * * * LIFE’S VOYAGE. BY TH. GREGG. A gallant bark is wildly tossing Upon the briny wave, Freighted deep with human treasure— With earnest hearts and brave. For many a day that bark is rolling Over the trackless sea; For many a day those hearts are beating— Are beating to be free! At length the shore is dimly looming On the horizon’s verge, When that frail vessel boldly plunges Unto the boiling surge. A moment—and the ship is stranded!— A number gain the shore— Whilst others ’neath the boiling billows Sink down for evermore! ’Tis thus Life’s waves are ever bearing Our fragile bark along— Whether freighted with Sin and Sorrow Or joyous Mirth and Song: And thus the surges are ever beating Against the wreck-strewn strand That stays the tide of Life’s rough Ocean And bounds the Spirit-Land! * * * * * MILTON.[5] BY B. H. BREWSTER. We have had lying on our table, for some years, this beautiful edition of Milton’s Select Prose Works, and we have often, while reading it, resolved to set about that which we have at last attempted. But we have been deterred not more by the importance of the subject, than by the recollection of the great spirits who have already earned rich harvests of applause in this field. The article by Mr. Macaulay, published in the Edinburgh Review, would seem to forbid further comment, where the critic has left his reader in doubt which most to admire, the splendor of his criticism, or the lofty grandeur of his original. Then, too, Mr. St. John, the editor of these neat and elegant volumes, has given a preliminary discourse, which displays a keen and warm admiration for these writings, expressed, in a fervid strain of noble eloquence, which inspires that gentle apprehension for the “bright countenance of truth,” so soothing “in the quiet and still air of delightful studies.”